


The Haunting of Natasha Romanov

by aravenwood



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Force-Feeding, Gen, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Room (Marvel), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: This couldn’t be happening. That woman…she was supposed to be dead – had been dead; Natasha had never forgotten how good it had felt to pin the woman beneath her, feeling her thrashing weakly as her life faded.While on a mission, Natasha runs into a face from her past.





	The Haunting of Natasha Romanov

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So fun fact - I never used to be a fan of Natasha. But while planning for another fic, this popped into my mind and I couldn't not write it. And I actually quite like her now.
> 
> Originally it was meant to be for the prompt "phobias" but it really doesn't fit and to be honest, I'm ok with that. But this was a lot of fun to write, even though it got suuuuper dark.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

So much for simple, Natasha thought to herself as voices suddenly filled the hallway to her left. She sighed and picked up the file she’d been looking through and tucked it into her bag as she searched the room for another way out. Her eyes found a balcony to the floor above and a filing cabinet placed conveniently underneath. She smiled. Perfect.

It took only a few moments for her to climb onto the cabinet and over the balcony, but as soon as her feet touched the ground the door she’d come in swung open and a team of men dressed in HYDRA uniforms rushed in. She rolled her eyes – this place was meant to be abandoned, and of course that had to change on the same day she’d been sent here. There had to be a dozen men, maybe more, and she’d come seriously underprepared for a fight of this size. It would be smarter to retreat, and she was already heading for the window when one of the men shouted across the room

“It has to be here somewhere. If SHIELD wanted to send someone then it must be. We have to find it before they do!”

Great, so once again HYDRA knew exactly what they were planning. She rolled her eyes and stood close to the edge of the balcony, using the shadows as cover. Those below her were oblivious, so focused on their work and so trusting that they were alone. Not one of them had even glanced at the balcony when they entered the room – they’d grown relaxed out here, sloppy even. A mistake she would never make.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She froze mid-step, breath catching in her throat. She knew that voice…she knew it because she’d heard it every night for the last twenty years; sometimes soft and almost motherly, sometimes snarling orders and threats. Her entire body grew tense as she watched a tall woman in a pinstripe suit strut through the open door at the corner of the room, flanked by two men armed with pistols. For a terrifying moment she thought she’d been seen, and her fingers reached for the gun strapped to her thigh. But they walked under her without a single glance her way, aiming instead for one of the HYDRA agents.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing? This is my base and you have no right to be here,” the woman snapped and pulled out a gun of her own. A few steps later and she had closed the distance between herself and the man she had deemed to be in charge, and pressed the barrel of the gun against the agent’s forehead.

Cold metal ghosted over Natasha’s own skin. She turned violently, gun raised, but found the space next to her empty. “What?” she mouthed, chest tightening as panic washed over her. No, this couldn’t happen in the middle of a mission, not with this many enemies so close by. She forced herself to breathe deeply and returned the gun to its holster, then tightened her hands into fists with nails biting into her palms until it hurt.

This couldn’t be happening. That woman…she was supposed to be dead – had been dead; Natasha had never forgotten how good it had felt to pin the woman beneath her, feeling her thrashing weakly as her life faded. She’d squeezed until the body fell limp and the pulse she could feel beneath one finger slowed to a stop, so desperate for her to be dead and for her to be free from this torture.

Her death had been the most fun.

But the fact that she was dead didn’t matter now because she could feel hands on her wrists, a breath on her neck. The woman had her pinned down, forcing her hands against the metal table and strapping them in place; forcing a mask of something that couldn’t be oxygen over her nose and mouth and pressing down on her gut until she had no choice but to breathe in. They’d tortured her in every way imaginable and worst of all, they’d told her they were helping.

Bile rose in her throat and she knew that she couldn’t stay here. She felt like a coward, running away when this woman, this monster was still alive, still free to torture people like they had done with her. But she couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.

She jumped out of the window before she could lose it completely.

\--

She wasn’t entirely aware of the next several hours. She remembered landing hard on the ground, all hands and knees and nothing like her usual grace. She remembered stumbling away from the base and vomiting into a bush, her chest heaving as she tried and failed to breathe. After that…it was a blur. Her bag was gone, passed off to some SHIELD agent who’d picked her up and dropped her at Avengers Tower. Someone had said hi to her, asked her how the mission had gone, but she didn’t know if she’d answered, didn’t know if she was even capable.

Still in a trance, she found herself in front of a punching bag. Her hands were wrapped clumsily, ends untucked, and even the first punch had them unravelling. She didn’t stop to fix them.

_A breathy voice in her ear. “Do as you are told.”_

Punch.

_Hands on her wrists pinning her down. On her forearms correcting her aim. In her hair forcing her head beneath an icy lake._

Punch. Punch. Punch.

_A bag over her head, ropes tying her down._

Punch.

_A tube being forced down her throat when she refused to eat. A tall woman in a pinstriped suit standing in the corner, watching her with hungry eyes and enjoying every choke, every whimper, every involuntary twitch. Her pushing a doctor to the side and covering the tube with one hand, pinching her nostrils with the other. Snarling inches from her face, “you will not disobey,” even as she thrashed, terrified that she would never breathe again._

“Nat?”

A hand touching her shoulder. She spun away from the bag, fist still raised. He wouldn’t get her this time, she was an adult now, an agent, she’d saved the goddamn world and he couldn’t hurt her now -.

Awareness rushed to the surface as Clint caught her fist in his hand and ducked back, free hand raised in a defensive gesture. “Nat, it’s only me. It’s ok, everything’s ok.” He spoke softly, slowly as if to a wild animal.

For a moment all she could do was stare, eyes wide and gasping for air. In a fractured voice she whispered, “Clint?” and pulled her and from his grasp, wincing a little at the shooting pain in her knuckles. She glanced down and found the wrappings on the floor and her hands bruised and bloody. “Oh,” she croaked.

“It’s ok,” Clint said again, “you don’t need to explain anything. Let’s go and clean up and then…your call. Ok? That sound good?”

On any other day she would snap at him for treating her like this – so fragile, so broken – but today she could only nod, unable to say a single word. Her throat was thick and so tight that she was afraid that the memory wasn’t a memory at all, that this was the dream and she was still strapped down, still choking against the feeding tube.

But then Clint squeezed her shoulder and kissed her cheek and she knew that she would never dream up anything like this because she knew that she didn’t deserve it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
